S is for Anderson
by MargyW
Summary: When John discovers that Anderson's first name begins with the letter S, Sherlock's curiosity gets the better of him. Another fic exploring the "naughty boy" dynamic of Sherlock & John's friendship. Fic is a bit cracky. Rated T for language. Mentions of corporal punishment.


John looked at the forensic report in Lestrade's hand. His eyes wandered to the bottom of the report. It was signed 'S. Anderson'.

"What does the S stand for?" he asked curiously.

"Ummm?" Lestrade and Sherlock looked at him.

"Anderson's first initial is S. What does it stand for?"

Lestrade scratched his head. "You know, I have no idea. He's always just been Anderson to me, and to everyone else at the Yard."

Sherlock's eyes were bright. "You mean no-one knows?"

"Well, Sally might," John suggested, "She's got to call him something when they're…well…you know."

Sherlock shot him a venomous glare. "Thank you for that mental image, John, I shall need to scrub the walls of my mind palace with bleach to get rid of it."

**221B BAKER STREET – THAT NIGHT**

Sherlock sat, cross-legged in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. He was deep in thought.

John relaxed in his chair, paperback novel in one hand, cup of tea in the other.

"Samson," Sherlock announced.

John lowered his book. "Excuse me?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Anderson's name could be Samson. Do try and keep up John."

John took a sip of tea. "Why Samson?"

"The fact he hides his first name suggests he hates it. It is either incredibly common, or it is a source of horrendous embarrassment to him. I discarded the idea of the name being common. You have one of the most common names of all and you don't hide it."

"Thanks for that," John said drily. "Nothing like being told you're common."

"Your name is common, John, you on the other hand, most definitely are not. You are quite probably the most uncommon specimen of humanity I have come across."

"Specimen, huh? Just don't try and slide me under your microscope."

Sherlock sniffed. "Of course not. You wouldn't fit."

John sighed and raised his book. An idea caught him, he grinned and lowered his book again. "Sherlock."

"Yes?"

"Anderson's name could be Sherlock. Might be why he hates you so much." John didn't even try to hide the smirk.

The look Sherlock gave him was priceless, it was both affronted and speechless rolled into one. John tried to stifle the escaping giggle, but failed.

"Face it, Sherlock, we're never going to simply guess Anderson's first name. It could be something as simple as Simon or as odd as Sherringford."

"Shalmanassar, even," Sherlock noted. He frowned. "I agree. We won't get anywhere by guessing. We need evidence."

John looked amused, "And how do you plan to get that?"

"Simple, my dear John, we'll break into Anderson's office at New Scotland Yard."

"We'll do _what_?" John was pretty sure his blood pressure had just gone stratospheric. "Over my dead body, Sherlock!"

**NEW SCOTLAND YARD – LATER THAT NIGHT**

John would have banged his head against the wall next to Anderson's office door, if it wasn't for the fact the noise would probably alert security.

They had got entrance into the building by the simple expediency of Sherlock claiming he was here to see Inspector Lestrade. Now they were standing in a dark corridor, John holding a torch, as Sherlock picked the lock on Anderson's office door. If they were caught they were in so many layers of trouble that not even a highly skilled archaeologist would be able to dig them out.

There was a soft click and Sherlock swung the door open. He turned and grinned at John. It was obvious that Sherlock was as excited as a schoolboy playing truant. If he was truthful to himself, John was nearly as excited. There was something gloriously naughty about performing a little breaking and entering at Scotland Yard.

Both men crept into the room. John slowly swung his torch around the walls and shelves, noting the framed Jurassic Park poster on the wall and the plastic Tyrannosaurus-Rex that sat on the desk. The bookshelves held mostly forensic texts, but John noted several works by Freud. "Maybe his name is Sigmund," he whispered to Sherlock, who was busy rifling through Anderson's desk drawers. Sherlock snorted his amusement.

"Nothing," Sherlock growled despondently, ceasing his rummaging. "Not a single damn thing."

Suddenly, the overhead lights blinked on. John dropped the torch.

"What the fuck do you two think you are doing?"

**LESTRADE'S OFFICE**

Sherlock and John stood in front of Lestrade's desk. The weary detective sat in his seat glaring at both of them.

When they had entered the office, Sherlock had gone to slump in a chair, Lestrade's look had had him rocketing to his feet as if his arse was on fire.

John was torn between hysterical laughter at the situation and trying to ignore certain memories of his school days that involved trips to the headmaster's office and close encounters with a cane. His backside was twitching at those memories. From the fidgeting that Sherlock was doing standing next to him, John guessed the taller man was having similar flashbacks.

"What the hell am I going to do with you two?"

John and Sherlock caught each other's eye. They sniggered. Lestrade resisted the impulse to slowly and methodically bang his head against his desk.

"It's not funny. Honestly, how stupid do you think I am?"

Sherlock opened his mouth.

"Don't answer that!" Lestrade fairly snarled. "I am a detective. It didn't take much in the way of deduction to work out just exactly where you two were when the doorman rang to say you were coming up here and then you didn't arrive."

"I need to know!" The statement came out as a whine. It was obvious that Sherlock was on the verge of getting in touch with his inner three year old.

"You could just ask, Sherlock. It's what people usually do."

"Anderson doesn't like me. He won't tell me."

"You don't know that." The look Lestrade got from Sherlock was withering in the extreme. He sighed and looked at John. "And as for you… honestly John, I thought better of you."

John attempted to look shamefaced. It was a miserable failure. The truth was he enjoyed these shenanigans with Sherlock far too much.

Lestrade lowered his face into his hands. More and more he found that when he dealt with Sherlock and John he felt like a headmaster dealing with a pair of recalcitrant brats.

With a sigh, and a heartfelt wish that he could take his belt to the backsides of the two men standing in front of his desk, Lestrade raised his head from his hands. "Look, I'll make a deal with you. First time that you two, Anderson and I are together I will find a way to ask him what his first name is."

Sherlock looked rebellious. Dear God, Lestrade thought, please don't let him explode into a tantrum.

John nudged Sherlock. Sherlock looked at his friend for a moment, then turned back to Lestrade. He heaved a dramatic sigh.

Brat and drama queen, Lestrade thought with a mental wince.

"Very well, Lestrade. If that's the way it has to be."

"It is." Lestrade's tone was firm.

John shoved Sherlock towards the door. "Well, that's it. Night, Greg." John bundled Sherlock out of Lestrade's office. Lestrade watched them go, then returned to resting his head in his hands again. He found himself asking God for strength, patience and alcohol in equal measures.

**CRIME SCENE**

It took two weeks before there was a case that Lestrade could justify calling Sherlock in on. As per usual, Anderson had grumbled and griped. So much so that any guilt Greg had felt about trying to find out his first name evaporated like summer rain.

John and Sherlock were standing quietly to one side, Sherlock having made his usual brilliant deductions. John had ruefully concluded that this would not be good blog material. In his opinion the world was not yet ready for the case of the anatomically correct papier-mâché elephant, the shoe-horn, and the tutu, which was something of a pity, really.

Lestrade looked at Anderson who was packing up his kit. He cleared his throat, "You know, it's occurred to me, Anderson, that after all these years we really should be on first name terms."

Shit, Lestrade thought, I sound like a middle aged gay on the pull.

Anderson gave him a wary look, as John and Sherlock looked at each other and unsuccessfully turned sniggers into coughs. "I prefer not to use my first name, Inspector," Anderson's voice was tight.

By now Gregory Lestrade was of the opinion that the entire world was conspiring to piss him off. His tone was blunt. "Why?"

Anderson's mouth set into a tight line. "My father was a Johnny Cash fan. Leave it at that." Head held high, he walked away. Lestrade blinked in confusion.

John was torn between laughter and pity. "Poor bastard."

Sherlock and Lestrade turned almost identical confused looks on him. "Not big country music fans, I take it," John said drily. "Johnny Cash had a huge hit with a song called "A Boy Named Sue".

Sherlock and Lestrade looked at John, then at each other, and then shot looks after the departing Anderson.

"Can't prove it, of course," Lestrade said neutrally.

"A trip to Births, Deaths and Marriages…" Sherlock began.

Lestrade glared at him. Sherlock subsided, getting the point for once.

"Of course," John said with a grin, "it could have been worse."

"How?"

John's grin got wider. Sherlock had a fair idea of what was coming. He reached for the elephant.

"He could have named him Sherlock, like I suggested before," John sniggered.

The left testicle of the papier-mâché elephant hit John in the stomach. Sherlock glared at him, then took off, laughing, as John chased him down the street, yelling imprecations.

Sighing, Lestrade picked up the testicle and dropped it in an evidence bag. With an ever-widening grin he walked back to his car. One thing was certain, life with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson was never dull.

**Author's Note: The inspiration for this story came from "The Sherlock Files" by Guy Adams. A forensic report in it is signed 'S. Anderson'. I know Mark Gatiss has joked that the S stands for Silvia, but I admit to different ideas. :D**

**Thanks to Andrea and Caroline for name suggestions. You ladies rock!**


End file.
